During the years in between, Bartali used his time and talents as part of a network of Catholic clergy and printers, all of whom risked their lives to create counterfeit documents so that Italian and emigrant Jews could remain in German-occupied Italy. Using his bicycle, Bartali ferried documents, rolled up and hidden in the frame of the bike, around the country--from Florence to Assisi and back again.

The cyclist also was instrumental in saving the lives of the Goldenberg family--Elvira and Giacomo together with their son Giorgio and their daughter Tea. Without Bartali's assistance, it is more than likely that the Goldenbergs would have perished at the hands of the Nazis. Instead, the children and grandchildren of Giogio and his wife, and Tea and her husband today number more than two dozen.

Reticent to elaborate on this facet of his life, Bartali "remain[ed]
tight-lipped with the press about his wartime activities for most of his
life." Thanks to the McConnons, we readers are all the wiser, knowing that for the life he lived and for the lives he saved, Gino Bartali is indeed a hero--to Italy and to the Jews.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Thanks to free admission to the Jewish Museum offered by Temple Shaaray Tefila, two friends and I spent a lovely afternoon there yesterday.

We started with Crossing Borders: Manuscripts from the Bodleian Libraries, which although not a blockbuster exhibit, presented some exquisitely beautiful Hebrew, Latin and Arabic manuscripts that date back to medieval times. Surprisingly, we had the museum almost entirely to ourselves and we truly enjoyed viewing the manuscripts, which range in size from huge volumes to teeny-tiny books no bigger than those in the Nutshell Library.

When we had finished wandering among the exhibit's display cases--together and individually--we briefly visited the museum's permanent collection, which spans from ancient times through to modernity and beyond. Highlights include Judaica from throughout the ages, as well as an historical perspective of the Jews and their religious practices and traditions in communities throughout the world.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Yesterday 20 sweet, innocent first-graders and seven educators were senselessly killed in cold blood at their school and today you’re gallivanting around the city in fuzzy red suits, blocking the sidewalks, screaming drunken obscenities at pedestrians from cab windows, and littering our neighborhoods as though they’re the basement of your fraternity house? Is this the best you can do? Really?!?

Six weeks ago, the worst storm in our region’s history left thousands homeless, and many others with endless cleaning up to do and you’ve spent today pub-crawling in a loud, rowdy group? Is this the best you can do? Really?!?

Each day from November 1 through the end of the year, The New York Times profiles an individual or family that benefits from the paper’s Neediest Cases Fund. Illness, poverty, drugs, domestic violence, lack of education, and just plain hard luck figure prominently in these stark tales. With so much in our world that needs fixing, how can you devote an entire day (and, no doubt, lots of money, too) to drinking in noisy, crowded bars, where you can’t possibly hear the person sitting next to you? Is this the best you can do? Really?!?

Yes, I know I sound old, crotchety, and judgmental, but the world is in dire need of new ideas, energy and passion—things you seem to have in great supply—and the best you can come up with is a day-long, raucous pub-crawl? Really?!?

Perhaps next year you and your SantaCon buddies will devote your time, energy and passion to enriching our world? Perhaps instead of bar hopping in your Santa suit you’ll visit a children’s hospital or a homeless shelter? Perhaps you’ll donate canned goods to a food pantry or deliver holiday packages to shut-ins? Perhaps you’ll visit kids whose parents are in Iraq or Afghanistan? Donate a pint of blood? Help ban assault weapons? Ensure that a woman's right to abortion remains legal? Skip the beers and donate to the Marines’ annual Toys for Tots campaign instead? Deliver a Christmas tree to a family that might not otherwise have one?

Don’t like any of these ideas? Devise one of your own. Give to a charity of your choice. Help an elderly neighbor string up his Christmas lights. Shovel her driveway or sort her recyclables. Read to kids in your old elementary school. Tutor a kid who’s struggling with math.

There’s so much wrong with our world, SantaCon. Ditch the alcohol and the Santa suit and help to make it right.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Nearly four years ago, I wrote this post, which was supposed to be the first in an occasional series. Although it's been much longer than I intended, I'm glad to bring you the next installment about another person in my neighborhood. This is Jimmy Vignapiano, who works in the mailroom at the Union for Reform Judaism and brings me my snail mail each day. Our conversations usually go something like this:

Me: Hey, Jimmy...How are you?

Jimmy (handing me my mail): Miss Jane...just a little crappola today.

Me (rolling my eyes if there's a lot of mail): Thanks, Jimmy. Have a good one.

Earlier this week at the URJ Hanukkah party (where longtime employees are honored on their milestone anniversaries), Jimmy and I sat at the same table. When I got back to my seat after accepting a certificate and gift marking my decade with the Union, Jimmy told me that when he celebrated his fifth anniversary with the URJ, he received a kiddush cup. After 10 years, he received a chanukiah. What he told me next made me chuckle: Today, the kiddush cup hangs on the Vignapianos Christmas tree and the chanukiah sits on the mantle in their home.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Although you cannot escape your genes, they certainly can widen your world.

It wasn't just a frivolous, feel-good post, though.

I'd just gotten off the phone with Ed, a second cousin, who was recovering from a mastectomy he'd had five days earlier. He'd called to set a date to meet for dinner and we settled on Wednesday of the coming week. Each of us was eager to, as he'd suggested in an email to me, "get together
sometime soon, whether to discuss the effects of breast cancer, or
just to become friends rather than somewhat distant relatives."
Three weeks earlier, his mother had called me. Surprised that she was calling out of the blue, my first thought was that someone had died. (Tfu, tfu, tfu...) Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Instead, she told me that Ed had been diagnosed with breast cancer and that his doctor wanted to see my BRCA test results. Of course I faxed them the very next morning.

I also called Ed to check in with him. Although we didn't see each other often when we were growing up--an occasional simcha, funeral or shiva call was about it--we talked for a while that day. A few more calls and emails followed as he compiled his family history (a piece of which we share) and prepared to meet with a genetic counselor.

Fortunately, he's now cured and, best of all, he's negative for a BRCA mutation, which is great news for him and even better news for his two college-age daughters.

We had a great time on Wednesday night, not just comparing notes about surgical drains and itchy incisions, but also about our jobs, our families and what we've been up to since my grandmother's funeral more than 21 years ago.

I'm hopeful that Ed and I will see each other again, that his wife Cara will join us next time, and that from the breast cancer lemons in our lives, we'll make some sweet, pink lemonade.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

When I was growing up,
Thanksgiving dinner didn’t officially begin until my mother had read some
prayer of thanksgiving, whether from the pages of a siddur or clipped from the newspaper earlier in the week.

Sadly, that tradition has fallen
by the wayside in recent years.Tomorrow, I intend to resurrect it, although it is somewhat likely that
my plan will meet with objections.Should
I give in to them and not read the piece I’ve selected, I’m sharing it here in
the hopes that it might get a well deserved reading at someone else’s holiday table.

I’ve chosen the now somewhat famous
1936 Thanksgiving proclamation of Connecticut Governor Wilbur L. Cross, who was
a Shakespearean scholar and an esteemed professor of English at Yale.His eloquence catches the ear and, seven
decades after he penned it, his message remains timeless:

Time out of mind at this turn of the seasons when the hardy
oak leaves rustle in the wind and the frost gives a tang to the air and the
dusk falls early and the friendly evenings lengthen under the heel of Orion, it
has seemed good to our people to join together in praising the Creator and
Preserver, who has brought us by a way that we did not know to the end of
another year. In observance of this custom, I appoint Thursday, the
twenty-sixth of November, as a day of Public
Thanksgiving for the blessings that have been our common lot and have
placed our beloved State with the favored regions of earth -- for all the
creature comforts: the yield of the soil that has fed us and the richer yield from
labor of every kind that has sustained our lives -- and for all those things,
as dear as breath to the body, that quicken man's faith in his manhood, that
nourish and strengthen his spirit to do the great work still before him: for
the brotherly word and act; for honor held above price; for steadfast courage
and zeal in the long, long search after truth; for liberty and for justice
freely granted by each to his fellow and so as freely enjoyed; and for the
crowning glory and mercy of peace upon our land; -- that we may humbly take
heart of these blessings as we gather once again with solemn and festive rites
to keep our Harvest Home.

May each of us appreciate the blessings that are ours, savor
the company of family and friends, and not overdo it with the mashed potatoes.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

The content of this blog post may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

A friend recently suggested that my
life is “all body parts all the time.”
In some ways, she’s not wrong.With my reconstruction now complete, I’m able to turn my full attention to researching and writing my master’s thesis which also focuses on a particular (but different!) body part. In case you haven’t been
following the story, I’m writing about the Haredi practice of metzitzah b’peh (oral suction as part of
Jewish ritual circumcision) that, in the last eight years, has resulted in 11
cases of neonatal herpes in New York City, including the death of two babies. Recently the New York City Board of Health voted to require Haredi mohelim to obtain written consent from parents before performing metzitzah b'peh as part of the baby's bris. The Haredim have filed a lawsuit against the city, and a judge ordered a stay on the requirement until the next hearing, which is scheduled for November 14.But, rather than get into further
details here, I’ll let you read the section on Jewish ritual circumcision
that I’ve just completed...which also partially explains why I haven't been able to blog here in recent weeks. Jewish Ritual
CircumcisionAccording to
Klein (1992), “[t]he operation of ritual
circumcision consists of three steps:

1.Milah, the cutting
off of the foreskin.

2.Peri’ah, the tearing
of and folding back of the mucous membrane to expose the glans.

3.Metsitsah, the suction
of the blood from the wound.” (p. 422)

Initially, these
steps were described in the Talmud—a compilation of rabbinic writings completed
by the 5th century—in the context of what can and cannot be
performed on the Sabbath. According to
the Talmud, “We may perform all the necessities of circumcision on the
Sabbath. We may circumcise, uncover the
corona, draw the blood, and place a bandage and cumin upon it.”

Later, these same
steps were described again by Moses Maimonides, the 12th century
Torah scholar and physician in his Mishneh
Torah (Repetition of the Torah).
This 14-volume work describes all the laws of Jewish observance as
detailed in Jewish texts (Torah and Talmud).
In his Mishneh Torah, Maimonides
writes:

How
is the circumcision performed? The
foreskin that covers the crown of the penis is cut off until the entire crown
is revealed.

Afterwards,
the soft membrane that is beneath the skin should be split along the mid-line
with one’s nails and peeled back to either side until the flesh of the crown is
revealed.

Afterwards,
one should suck the place of the circumcision until all the blood in the
further reaches is extracted, lest a dangerous situation arise. Any [mohel]
who does not perform metzitzah should
be removed from his position. After one
has performed metzizah, one should
apply a bandage, a compress, or the like. (Touger,
1991)

It is important to note that the
Hebrew Maimonides used to describe the third step in the process is metzitzah [suction], not metzitzah b’peh [suction by mouth]. Although
the text does not explicitly specify the suction method to be used, it is
plausible to presume that during Maimonides’ time, suction by mouth was the
only feasible way to draw blood away from the circumcision wound. Touger (1991)
offers this commentary on the text, providing an explanation of why metzitzah b’peh has largely been abandoned
by all but the most ultra-Orthodox Jews:

Traditionally,
the mohel sucks out the blood with
his mouth. Nevertheless, in previous
generations, the Rabbis did grant license to use a pipette because of the
possibility that germs in the mohel’s
mouth might infect the child. Today,
there are authorities who suggest the use of a pipette because of the danger
that the mohel could contract AIDS. (pp. 220-221)

And yet, like
their brethren in 19th century Hungary and Germany who believed the
commandment to perform metzitzah b’peh
was handed down from God to Moses, Haredim in New York City continue this
custom, believing that their practice imbues it with the weight of Jewish law. According to Dvoretzky and Roth (2012), counsel to the International Bris
Association (IBA), one of the three organizations that has filed suit against New
York City for its efforts to obtain parental consent prior to ritual
circumcisions in the Haredi community:

Traditionally, metzitzah was performed using direct oral suction—metzitzah b’peh (“MBP”)—and this method
remains in widespread use in Hasidic, Orthodox, and ultra-Orthodox Jewish
communities. Indeed many prominent
rabbinic authorities maintain that MBP is the only legitimate way to properly complete the circumcision in
accordance with Jewish law. (p. 26)

It seems extremely unlikely,
therefore, that the Haredim will forsake metzitzah
b’peh under any circumstances, despite the possible health risks to both
the infant and the mohel that have
been identified by generations of scientific experts—and heeded by rabbinic
authorities—beginning in the 19th century.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Although I have little affinity for numbers, for much of my
adult life I’ve been fascinated with dates—such as today—that have some order
or progression to them.I recall signing
in at my summer job (where, in 1977 at 14, I think I was still a volunteer) at
the Franklin Township Public Library when the date was 7-7-77.

Many years later on July 8, 1990, I watched Charles Kuralt
quip on CBS Sunday Morning about what had happened at 34 minutes and 56 seconds
after midnight (and would happen again at a bit more than half past noon) on
that date.Yes, the time and date
readout was a perfect sequence of numbers:12:34:56 on 7/8/90.

In the early 90s while living in northern New England, I’d
randomly point out to anyone who’d listen, let’s say on August 8, 1992, that “Sixteen
years from today, it will be 08-08-08.”In
the same vein, I’d note, on April 3, 1995, let’s say, that “Seventy-four years
ago today, it was 4-3-21.”This quirky
habit continued through the turn of the century and, once I’d relocated to Los
Angeles, with my new friends and colleagues out there.

It should come as no surprise, then, that in the wee hours
of today a Los Angeles friend (who now lives in West Virginia) sent me this Facebook
message:

Let me be the first (and probably
only!) to wish you a happy 10/11/12!!! :-)

She may have been the first, but she definitely was not the
only.At 8:34 a.m., my former boss from
New Hampshire (who now lives in western Pennsylvania) forwarded to me this
email he’d received earlier in the morning from his daughter:

From: Scott’s Daughter [mailto:scottsdaughter@gmail.com]

Sent: Thursday, October 11, 2012 8:11 AM

To: Scott

Subject: In place of Jane

Since
Jane Herman isn't here to remind you......

Today
is 10/11/12

:)

Enjoy it, everyone.It won’t be 10-11-12 again until 100 years
from today!

Monday, October 8, 2012

The most recent edition of RJ magazine includes this little blurb
that I wrote last year just before the High Holy Days.I wouldn’t normally point something like this
out to you, but this past Saturday was Brian’s bar mitzvah and I chose my
jewelry for the occasion very carefully.Included in my ensemble were a necklace and two bracelets that belonged
to you. When we got to temple, Aunt Claire was wearing earrings--which
you know she doesn’t do very often.They
were very pretty and I complimented her on them.She told me that you had given them to her.It seems that you were on everyone’s mind
that morning.

The bar mitzvah was lovely and
Brian did a great job. The service was a
bit long, though, given that it was a double and there were the extra Hallel readings for Sukkot (as well as a
second hakafah before the scroll was
returned to the ark. I’ve never seen
that done…have you?) You’ll be
interested to know, too, that in Conservative congregations, God’s still reviving
the dead, unlike “by us” where the Eternal is giving
life to all. :-)Meitim vs. hakol aside, the Conservative siddur
lists the matriarchs in the order that you prefer them: Sarah, Rebecca, Leah and Rachel, and Ted told
me that every time that passage was read, he thought of you. You really were ahead of your time. Amy and I opened the ark before the Torah
service, Daddy carried one of the scrolls, and Aunt Claire had an aliyah. She did a wonderful job; you would
have been proud.

At the reception, I chatted with Sherry and Marvin Freedman and all of Aunt Claire's neighbors and friends -- the Marks', the Ronans, and the Kossins. We talked about you, and Mrs. Ronan told a story about Uncle Irv. Before long, we were all laughing about his cigarettes and how he'd stick them in his pocket whenever anyone came out into the garden to check on him. Those memories never seem to fade...they've just gotten sweeter with time.

Here are some pictures so you can
see how we’re all looking these days.We
missed you, but in so many ways you were right there with us…as you are
always.

Ian: Getting so tall, but still sweet as ever

Ian and Amy

Pretty Jill (she's 15!)

Daddy with Amy and me

Chag sameach, The Mums and xoxo,

~ Boo!

P.S.Melinda Panken used your ethical will as part
of her remarks during Yizkor on Yom Kippur and Peter Weidhorn told me that
there wasn’t a dry eye in the sanctuary.I think that your values are living on in ways that you probably couldn’t
have imagined when you first penned those words.xoxo.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

I love that the umbrella of Torah is so big and wide that this past Friday's edition of the URJ's Ten Minutes of Torah was about BRCA mutations and Hereditary Breast and Ovarian Cancer (HBOC). I'm honored to have been able to use such a widely read forum to raise awareness about this topic, and I appreciate all the wonderful feedback I've received about it.

First prize, though, goes to Marvin Freedman, who printed out a copy and, when he saw me at yesterday's family bar mitzvah, asked me for my autograph! Marvin, who served on the URJ board of trustees with my mom, and I are not related, but might best be considered "kissing cousins." His wife, Sherry, is a cousin of the bar mitzvah boy's paternal grandfather, z'l, and I'm a niece of the bar mitzvah boy's paternal grandmother. Small Jewish world, indeed!

Sunday, September 30, 2012

This article about Michelle Obama in today’s paper reminded me about Allison Olmsted, a colleague from my days in New Hampshire, who once wisely quipped that “No one over 30 should ever wave on the beach.” Indeed, Michelle Obama is the exception that makes Allison’s rule true.

For years, my sister and I always jokingly referred to those jiggly flaps of skin—often found on older and (mostly) Jewish women we knew—as “Hadassah Arms.” Meaning no disrespect to either the women or the organization, it was a reference that reflected our world, and quickly became part of our family’s vocabulary.

The clincher came, though, when one of us said something to our Aunt Claire about “Hadassah Arms.” Not understanding the reference, she thought we were talking about an apartment building!

Increasingly (and as I wrote last year), it seems, the store is filled with more “stuff”—stationery, school supplies, writing journals, calendars, photo albums, e-readers and the like—and fewer books, and this year was no exception. Nonetheless, ignoring our hunger, the thick, earthy smell of coffee from the café, and several rowdy teens, we each managed to find a few books, a chair and enough energy to thumb through our selections until it was time to return to temple for the afternoon service.

In the meantime, stay tuned to find
out what my dad and I actually end up reading in 5773—especially once my thesis
is finished in December, when I’ll be able to choose my own books instead of
having someone else choose them for me.

A few minutes before 10 a.m. this morning, I checked in on Foursquare at Memorial Sloan-Kettering's Rockefeller Outpatient Pavilion on 53rd Street. Up on the 10th floor, I checked in again—this time with the receptionist in the Plastic Surgery suite. About 10 minutes later, I was in one of the exam rooms (at this point, I think I’ve been in all of them), where I met Casey, Dr. Mehrara’s physician’s assistant (PA), who, if she was so inclined, could moonlight as a tattoo artist in the Village.

Initially, had the setting been a bit different, I might have mistakenly believed I was at the Clinique counter in Macy’s, trying to find just the right shade of lipstick. As she applied each option to my skin, Casey would comment: "This one is too orange… I think this one’s too pink. Let’s see what happens if we add a little brown to this pink one…"

Once she and I agreed on the color, we moved on to pick the size of the areola, using what looked like one of those kitchen gadgets that lets you measure how much spaghetti to cook based on the number of servings you need. With the tentative measurements and pigments marked on my body, Casey called in “the boss” who OK’d our handiwork.

With that approval in place, she got down to work. Because there are few if any nerve endings in the abdominal tissue that now masquerades (quite well, I think) as breasts, the actual tattooing didn’t hurt, although I could feel the pressure of the needle. In one spot, there does appear to be some nerve regeneration going on (this is a good thing), so she applied some topical Lidocaine before taking up the needle again. Once she was finished, I got a quick look at my newly tattooed (but also very red and bleeding) body parts before she applied antibiotic ointment and covered them with non-stick gauze anchored in place with medical adhesive tape.

Armed with written instructions and all the supplies—non-stick gauze pads, antibiotic ointment, petroleum jelly, adhesive tape—I’ll need to care for my new tattoos for the next week, I was back in the waiting room by noon, ready to make my next appointment, which is now scheduled for January. Thirteen blocks later, my new tattoos and I were at 633 and I was at my desk, catching up on emails from earlier in the day.

No, definitely not just another day in the office, but rather a personal milestone worth marking in some indelible way.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

My sister, a true New Yorker, always says that when it comes to guys, apartments and jobs, you just have to go with your gut. I happen to think she's right on all three counts.

As the years tick by, I find that my both my heart and my gut speak to me quite often and, reliable body parts that they are, they're generally spot on, not just about guys, apartments and jobs, but about lots of other important--and not so important--things.

In 5773, I hope that my heart and my gut will speak to me often and--most of all--that I'll have the good sense to hear them when they do.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

I'm exceedingly grateful to have you as part of so many of the blessings in my life. I've got loving family, supportive friends, a great synagogue community, work I enjoy, a healthy body, a comfortable home, meaningful opportunities to stretch my mind, and the list goes on... Without a doubt, my life is rich and full in countless ways.

And yet, how nice it might be if the new year were to bring a mensch around every once in a while. Perhaps we'd start with coffee, just to test the waters. If it all goes well, we might progress to dinner and a walk. If we're lucky, there'll be some common ground, lots to talk about, ample laughter, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, we're onto something good.

If by some chance, you think you might be able to help direct guys my way in the new year, I'm happy to give you a few pointers based on my previous experience writing "ads" about the type of guy I am (and most definitely am not) seeking.

Ready? Here goes...

I’m 49, so when I say late 40s or “age appropriate,” I don’t mean 28 and I don’t mean 57. Forty-eight to 55 would be great.

I’m Jewish and although not religious in the traditional sense, being Jewish is an important part of my life in a liberal sort of way. Therefore, Jewish guys who still retain some attachment (even if it’s just cultural) to their heritage are most desirable.

Although I’m not looking to get married again (at least not at the moment), I am also not interested in meeting guys who already are married or are not quite divorced. If you're going to send me guys, it would be great if you could limit your selections to those who are single, fully divorced or widowed.

I don’t have a specific “type” in mind when it comes to guys and I don’t much care about hair color, eye color or that sort of thing. At the same time, at 5’5”, I do appreciate guys who are at least 5’7” or 5'8". Please feel free to let your pool of candidates know that I’m height and weight proportionate (and stay that way with the help of a treadmill when I can fit it in). I’ve got long, curly auburn hair, brown eyes and a great smile.

Much more important to me than looks, though, is that you do your best to send me a mensch. Of course I don’t expect perfection (I’m old enough and seasoned enough to know that it exists only in fairy tales and the movies), but would love to spend time getting to know someone who is honest, gentle and kind, seriously interested in finding the right somebody and not into playing games. I don’t really care about how much money he makes, whether or not he travels annually to the Caribbean or how many electronic gadgets he owns. Speaking of electronic gadgets, though, if we do decide to meet and chat over coffee or a drink (my preference for a first get-together), it’d be nice if he’d turn off his iPhone and put it away. Having it out on the table would just be a distraction for both of us.

I live and work in Manhattan. Therefore, a Manhattan guy would be great, but I'm also open to guys who live in the other four boroughs, as well as close by in Westchester or New Jersey. Florida, Maine, and upstate New York, however, are a bit out of the question. Some consideration of geographic boundaries would be greatly appreciated.

I know that these are tough economic times, but gainful employment is a big plus as are solo living quarters unless, of course, the guy shares space with his kids – either full-time or part-time. (Although I don’t have any of my own, I believe that children come into our lives in many different ways and I’m definitely open to having other people’s kids in my life.)

If Mr. Right is going to write initially, please keep in mind that although I don’t expect the Great American Novel, a few brief, well written sentences about who he is, what his life looks like, and the positive attributes he'd bring to a meaningful long-term relationship would be appreciated. Most undesirable in the response category are one-liners, canned text, and photos with no words (and no shirts).

Although I know that you won’t necessarily send me a guy who’s a carbon copy of me (that’d be boring), it would be great if he and I shared some values. High on my list are honesty, integrity, intellectual curiosity, ideas, family, friends and other things money can’t buy.

Lastly, to make this thing really work, I hope you might be able to send me someone with whom I have that all elusive chemistry. Ideally, we’ll have an emotional, intellectual and physical spark that together we can coax into a wonderfully warm and glowing relationship.

Love, I know this is a tall order, but as always, I'm hopeful that 5773 will be the year that I meet my bashert, and I'm counting on you to help.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Wishing you the sweetest, most joyous, healthiest and
most undramatic of years to come.... I would offer a prayer that you be
inscribed for a good year but I think you've already pushed God out of the way
and written it in yourself! (It's okay; I have it on good authority that God
likes being pushed around by the likes of you.)

He was referring to
the lengths to which I’d gone during the last year and a half to remain healthy
and free of a disease to which I have a genetic predisposition.

In 5771, I spent a total of six nights in the hospital, had
two major surgeries—first this one,
then this
one, which was 12 hours long and included immediate reconstruction using my own abdominal tissue—and stayed at home recovering for weeks…and I
wasn’t sick.

In 5772, I had a
minor same-day procedure to tweak the results of one of the earlier
surgeries and spent a week recovering at home.

In the earliest days of 5773 (just before Yom Kippur), I’ll
have a
minor, in-the-plastic-surgeon’s-office procedure to put the finishing
touches on the most recent surgery.Early in 2013, I’ll have follow-up laser treatments on some heavy-duty scarring
caused by a wound and, if all goes well, I will be D.O.N.E.

Although I’m not sure that I “pushed God out of the way,” I definitely
made some tough choices that, even as the whole ordeal fades into the rear view
mirror, have left me with deep physical and emotional scars.

In 5773 may these scars continue to fade and may we all be
inscribed for a year of health and blessing.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

In my mind, Rabbi Sylvan Kamens’ heartfelt
poem, We Remember Them, is as much a part of Yom Kippur as is our break-the-fast
a few hours later:

At the rising of the sun and at its going down,
We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and the chill of the winter,
We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,
We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of Autumn,
We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live,
For they are now part of us as we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,

we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart,
We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share,
We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make,
We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs,

We remember them.
As long as we live they too will live,
For they are now a part of us as we remember them.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Terry, my college roommate—who has been a like-a-sister
friend for more than three decades—came to New York on Friday for a long
overdue weekend visit.In the days
before, we’d ticked through a number of possible activities for our time
together and, at her suggestion, we added worship to our list of “definites.”On her last visit to New York, we’d attended
Mass at St. Patrick’s so
this time around it would be Kabbalat Shabbat at Shaaray Tefila. We opted for this particular serviceboth because it’s shorter than the
minyan and because it would leave all
day Saturday free for whatever else we decided to do.

In his drash, Rabbi Stein
spoke about the randomness of that morning’s shooting at the Empire StateBuilding and the role of fate and mazel in
our lives.Later in the service, Terry was
especially struck by this particular passage in the siddur:“There is evil enough to break the heart, and there is good
enough to exult the soul."During
our “debrief” over dinner, she also told me how much she enjoyed the service,
the music, and all the congregational participation.

Fast forward to Saturday at about
6:40 p.m. as we made our way around the beautiful fountain footprints of first the
South Tower and then the North Tower of the 9/11 Memorial—our fingers gently
touching the letters comprising the names of so very many souls lost on that
day. One in particular—Michael
S. Costello—the boyfriend of one of her husband’s cousins, gave us special
pause.Terry told me he was "loud, fun-loving and a good guy." We also talked about Neil David Levin, who,
although we neither saw his name nor knew him personally, was a fellow alum of
our beloved Lafayette College and, at
the time of his death on 9/11, the executive director of the Port Authority.

As dusk fell and the names became
illuminated by the soft lights below, we talked more about fate, mazel, chance, and fortune, and also about the words from Mishkan T’fila that had caught Terry’s eye.

May Stitch Costello, Neil Levin and the other
2995 completely innocent souls killed on that awful day rest in peace, and may 5773 usher in a time in which the good that exults our souls far
outweighs the evil that breaks our hearts.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

When I lived in Los Angeles – in the densely populated neighborhood known by locals as the “Brentwood Ghetto” – someone in my building, or perhaps next door or across the street, blew a shofar early every morning during Elul.

On most days, it was a cannot-be-ignored reminder of the upcoming High Holy Days. On Sundays, though, it was a true (and most unwelcome) wake-up call.

But that was back before social media… Today, there are countless ways to sound a shofar without disturbing the neighbors.

Sadly, the first time was when Wade Michael Page killed six
Sikhs and wounded four others in Oak Creek at the Sikh Temple of Wisconsin just
before morning worship two weeks ago.I pray that that those who lost loved ones and
those who were injured are RETURNING
to wholeness and strength.It is not an
easy road…may their faith and their families sustain them.

Then, just last week, you brought us Janesville’s native son
Paul Ryan.May he enjoy his run for VP,
and then RETURN swiftly to his
Congressional seat representing the people in the Badger State’s First District.

The folks I’ve been watching most closely, though, have been
coming to Milwaukee on a regular basis for month-long stays at your Children’s
Hospital since June.Yesterday they RETURNED home to Chicago, but they’ll
be back in a few weeks.Please take good care of all of
them, especially Superman Sam, so he can RETURN
to his normal life with his sibs and his ‘rents in Chicago and stay there…except
for treks across the border to camp or to visit his Bubbe and Zayde.

As for me, I’m not sure that there’s any reason in the
foreseeable future that I’d take a trip to see you.However, if that should come to pass, I think
I’d probably don one of those silly hats your people all seem to wear out there…before
RETURNING to New York City, of
course!

Friday, July 27, 2012

Shame on the International Olympic Committee for not honoring the 11 Israeli athletes--and the German policeman who lost his life trying to save them--with a moment of silence at tonight's opening ceremony of the 2012 Olympic Games: